Five Things That Never Happened to the One Ring
by Dreamiflame
Summary: Somewhat dark. Five different AU looks at what could have happened to the One Ring. Silmarillion-based in parts. Reposted to the Silmarillion section.


Title: Five Things That Never Happened to the One Ring  
  
Author: Dreamiflame  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: Professor Tolkien made them up, I just borrowed.  
  
Notes: Thanks to Kielle for checking over my canon.  
  
1. Aulë  
  
Sauron worked by himself, hidden away in a corner of Aulë's forge. Every evening, as Vingelot set sail, making her way across the heavens toward the Void, Aulë would go to him, checking on his progess. It was not that he was untrusted, since his return, more that the Valar had learned to be cautious.  
  
The forge itself was oddly silent, and Sauron sat slumped by his worktable, exhaustion radiating from every part of him. Aulë knew he had been working on a specific project, one he had not let anyone see yet. Hearing his master's footfall, Sauron straightened, raising his head. "I have finished," he said, and there was pride in his voice, but also uncertainty.  
  
Aulë stepped up beside him and looked down. On the table before him were countless rings, some with stones, some with intricate carvings. There were three set aside, and a fourth set above that. He touched the carved gold band, noting the writing there. "What are they?"  
  
"Rings of power," Sauron said, and there was eagerness in his voice now, along with the pride. He wanted very much for his master to approve. "This one," he said, touching the gold, though not Aulë's skin, "is the master ring, the ring that can control all of the others." His eyes were very bright and he was flushed as he picked up the shining circle and gave it to Aulë. "It is for you."  
  
2. Isildur  
  
"Come!" Elrond quickened his pace, and they saw before them the opening into the mountain. Isildur could feel his hair shrivelling in the harsh heat, and he hunched his shoulders to avoid it. The skin of his face felt tight, and the Ring in his hand was curiously heavy.  
  
Elrond was streaked with dirt, his face tense. "Cast it into the fire!" he urged, not touching Isildur, though that would have been easier. "Destroy it!"  
  
In his head was a high, chiming voice, speaking the coarse, heavy words of the Black Speech. Isildur could see visions behind his eyes, things the Ring was promising him. He saw Númenor reformed, pulled from the belly of the sea, with the towers shining in the sun. His children's children played on the grass he had known as a young man, and he wore the crown of the Kings. "I can give this to you," the Ring seemed to say, its power wrapping around him. He stared at it, such a little thing to be so strong, breaking away to look at Elrond.  
  
"No," he said, and let it fall, watching it sink into the fiery depths it had been wrought from.  
  
3. River to the Sea  
  
The Ring slipped from Isildur's finger and drifted down, pushed along by the currents even as its weight drew it toward the bottom. It touched the gravelly riverbed and caught on a few of the rocks, coming to rest. Above, Isildur's body floated downstream, orc arrows in his back. The King of Gondor was dead.  
  
A fish, nosing along the bottom for food, nudged the Ring, sending it skidding down the River. Currents and other fish conspired to move it along, and inch by inch, mile after mile, the Ring made its way to the Sea.  
  
Ulmo's folk still dwelt along the edges of Middle Earth, and it was one of these who discovered the Ring, half-buried at the roots of an undersea plant. Plucking the circle up in slippery fingers, she brought it to her master, who weighed it thoughtfully in his palm.  
  
The Ring could not tempt him, for he had a realm of his own, and little interest in power over Men and Elves. Making a strange, unusual journey, Ulmo brought the Ring to Valimar, setting it before Manwë.  
  
After much thought, Manwë motioned to his herald, pointing to the Ring. "This must be removed from the world," he said, and Eönwë bowed, catching the Ring up in his fist. Ulmo sent his calm seas, and Eönwë, unseen by any eye, brought the thing to Sauron's land of Mordor and cast it into the fires there, watching it melt and fade.  
  
A scream, unheard by mortal or immortal ears, seem to ring through his head as the gold vanished and Mordor shook with Sauron's passing.  
  
4. Déagol  
  
Sméagol found the ring when he was dragged out of the boat, the fish too strong for him. Déagol ran to him, laughing, astonished that Sméagol had made it out of the water on his own. His friend's hand was closed around something, mud dripping from his fist, and slowly Sméagol opened his fingers. There was a glinting circle in the mess, and Déagol stared at it, his eyes round.  
  
"Give that to us," he said, and Sméagol jerked, pulling his hand in as though caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.  
  
"But we found it," Sméagol replied, and he drew further away from Déagol, who followed, feeling his mouth go dry at the strength of his longing. "It's my birthday. It's for me."  
  
Déagol felt something ugly twist behind his eyes. "Give it to me," he insisted, advancing toward Sméagol, who scrambled away. "It can be a repayment for your birthday present, which was more than I could afford."  
  
Shaking his head, Sméagol backed away further. "No, no, no, mustn't ask us," he said, and Déagol lunged, catching Sméagol around the neck. Sméagol tried to scream and couldn't, dropping the ring as he tore at Déagol's fingers. They fell together and Déagol smashed Sméagol's head on a rock, letting his throat go as his friend lay still.  
  
The ring lay in the grass, gleaming dully. Déagol picked it up and took it back to the river, washing away the worst of the dirt. It was brighter than the sun, and even more captivating than before.  
  
Behind him, Sméagol coughed hard as he struggled to sit up. Déagol twisted slightly, protecting his treasure, but Sméagol, eyes wide with fear, ran away from him, towards home as quickly as he could.   
  
Déagol looked back at the ring, shining in his palm. "My precious," he murmured, unable to hold it in, and the trees shook their leaves as though laughing at him.  
  
5. Saruman  
  
The most subtle of traps was the one your enemy walked into. Saruman knew this, and knew that to take the Ring for himself, he would have to be cunning. If he revealed his hand too soon, he would lose everything. So he spoke soft words when Gandalf came for advice, telling him of the rumors of Orcs and wolves multiplying in the East. He warned of the Nazgûl, and bid Gandalf make haste to help his friend, the Hobbit who carried the Ring.  
  
Saruman journeyed to Rivendell, presiding over the council as Head of the Wise, schooling himself to patience. The Ring was there, shining on the table, and it was only through sheer will that he kept his eyes from it. It would not do to show too great an interest in the weapon of the enemy, and already, Elrond did not trust him as the Elf ought to.  
  
The Fellowship was decided upon, and Saruman promised aid and succor once they reach Isengard. Returning to Orthanc, he made his preparations, waiting impatiently for the Ring, and the Fellowship to arrive. When they did, hard on the heels of a Nazgûl attack, Saruman was there with comfort and shelter.   
  
It was a simple matter to slip the poison into the stew, even easier to kill the Elf who did not eat with the others, and Gandalf who was not as sick as he should have been. The most simple thing of all was to take the Ring from the Ringbearer's corpse, watching it expand to fit his hand.  
  
Saruman placed the Ring on his finger, and smiled. 


End file.
